


To Change the World

by Hilarita



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Special Operations Executive RPF
Genre: Gen, mentions Second World War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-11
Updated: 2005-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hilarita/pseuds/Hilarita
Summary: How Dumbledore became a spymaster and helped win the war





	To Change the World

**Author's Note:**

> 2700ish words written for the second Albus Ficathon, for [](https://deckwane.livejournal.com/profile)[deckwane](https://deckwane.livejournal.com/). I hope this is OK, if not, I'll have a go at writing you something else. Brigadier Gubbins was head of the SOE (British Special Operations Executive) during the Second World War. If he had a brother, he was certainly not a wizard.

Albus Dumbledore was worried. The wizarding war in Europe was always a concern, and he had been quietly keeping an eye on the situation on the continent. But now the Muggle war made even wizarding communication difficult. Even in Britain, owls were being shot down by overenthusiastic anti-aircraft gunners. Even Hogwarts was not immune: from his station down in Hogsmeade, the castle was totally dark, not its usual blaze of lights. Not even Unplottability would keep the school safe from Muggle bombs. Even wizards were on rations. Dumbledore was disgusted with the Ministry, and even more disgusted that their official position was to do nothing, classifying it as a purely Muggle problem for the UK. Officially, wizarding embassies were doing all they could to stop the wizarding war, but they had not success. When he’d protested, he’d been sent to Hogsmeade as a morale liaison officer, to help the village and the school, ‘our most important sites in Scotland’, as one official put it. But he knew they were trying to keep him out of the way.

But now he was waiting until it was time to go and meet a man. A meeting that might enable him to change something. He had met someone in the pub who had also expressed discontent with the way the Ministry of Magic was handling things. He had cultivated the conversation, and found out that the man was a Muggleborn, and that he had a brother who was something important in the Army, doing ‘secret stuff’. Dumbledore had seized eagerly on this and asked how much this brother knew of the wizarding world; the man had said he’d told his brother quite a lot, and that his brother had said, ‘We could do with being able to do some of that in this war.’ So Dumbledore had asked to meet this brother.

It was time to leave. He set out from Hogsmeade to a ruined chapel just beyond the anti-Muggle perimeter, putting an anti-Tracking charm on. It seemed deserted, so he sat down in the shelter provided by a corner. A man slipped out of the darkness and stood beside him. Dumbledore knew he hadn’t been followed. The man had been waiting for him.

‘I could have killed you in a second.’

Dumbledore chuckled. ‘I would have disarmed you faster. I know your brother, Dennis. Always assuming that you _are_ Brigadier Gubbins.’

‘I am.’ The man stepped into the faint light provided by the full moon. Albus stood up. ‘Albus Dumbledore. Delighted to meet you. I think I can help you win the secret war.’

It was hard to find somewhere comfortable to talk where they couldn’t be overheard, so they walked to a place where they had a good view all round. It was chilly, so Dumbledore cast a warming charm, and Transfigured a brace of rocks into cushions. He spoke frankly to Gubbins; he’d seen a copy of the Muggle Official Secrets Act, and guessed that this man might be bound by it. So he set out the situation.

‘In essence, my government to what’s happening in Europe isn’t our problem. They’ve instituted no bans on communication or travel to the continent, though of course the reverse is not true. I’ve met a steady stream of refugees who have been telling me of what Grindelwald and Hitler have been doing out there. They’re forcing people to live without magic, so they can’t resist. Once I’ve got people in there, they can cast Disillusionment charms so they can’t be noticed, get into high security compounds to steal plans, disguise themselves – the possibilities are endless. But I have two problems: how to get them into the country untraceably, and how to communicate with them once they’re out there. The Floo network is being watched.’

‘Don’t you people use owls?’

‘Of course, but even here people are taking pot-shots at them. God knows what they’re doing to them over there. The last people I met said they were doing random checks on owl post too, and that private owls were disappearing. But I understand that you people have something called ray-dee-oh.’ Dumbledore looked at him hopefully.

Gubbins nodded. ‘I see your problem. I don’t know how much my brother told you, but my organisation helps foment secret war behind enemy lines. We have the means to get people in and out of Occupied Territory, and to communicate with the. But there are a couple of things. First, I think they’d have to be working for me. They would need to be trained and infiltrated through my department, so as far as the Government are concerned, they would be under my control. Second, they’d need to be fluent in a European language. No weird translation charms, if there are any such things. You said they’re forcing people to live without magic, so perhaps anyone we sent out there couldn’t rely on magic all the time.’

‘Provided you can train women, that isn’t a problem.’

‘No problem at all.’

‘It used to be a custom for well-bred British gels to be sent to our sister school in France – Beauxbatons – to be finished. Some even went to Durmstrang and learnt German.’

Gubbins suddenly started. ‘Hellfire! Do you people have identity cards? I could in theory arrange to have some forged, but it might look a bit odd.’ He looked rather worried. An owl flew overhead.

Dumbledore smiled reassuringly. ‘We wizards have also been issued with them. We agreed to be rationed, to show that we’re properly behind the Muggle War Effort. So we have identity cards and ration books, just as you do. We don’t get called up, though. I believe we’re all registered as unfit for duty.’ He chuckled softly.

‘Good show. When can you get me to meet your first recruit? Once she’s in training we can discuss how you’re going to get messages to her through my department. Meet me here tomorrow night.’ The man stood up and offered his hand. Dumbledore took it, and smiled.

‘To secret war!’ he said.

The next night was a hurried meeting, as there was an air-raid. He just had time to take Minerva to meet the Brigadier when the siren sounded, and he’d had to hurry back to Hogsmeade to be at his duty station. The Brigadier had clearly persuaded his brother to send an owl next day, for Dumbledore received a note that said, ‘She’s a good-plucked ’un. Sent to training school. Meet next full moon, same time, same place.’ For a moment, Dumbledore felt fretful and almost sick. He had sent a young woman, a promising young witch into a world full of guns and explosives. Still, Gubbins had seemed competent, and Minerva knew what she was signing up for. There was a war to win. It wasn’t time to be squeamish.

A month later, Dumbledore was back at the ruined chapel. The Brigadier was brief and to the point.

‘You’re working near my brother. I can post letters to him, and he can hand them to you. Then you can give him notes to post to me – unless you can receive deliveries from Royal Mail. We can then use secret ink to write our real communications under an innocuous cover.’

Albus admitted that he could use the Muggle post, and was then treated to a brisk lesson on using secret inks and reagents. Albus was terribly impressed, though they were only going to use the simplest of methods, to put off a casual inspection. His thoughts went to his young friend Arthur Weasley, who adored all things Muggle and required stories about them at all times. He would ecstatic if he could ever hear about such things.

‘Now, you know my brother, so you can write to me with news of him, and I shall just say you’re a friend of the family. Your lassie won’t finish training for a month or so yet – she’s doing well, by the way. I made a visit to her training camp last week. But you’ll no doubt have special instructions for her, so if you send me a letter, I can make sure she gets it.’ The Brigadier said nothing to Albus about the difficulty of filtering the messages through a large organisation without someone finding out. They parted soon after.

And thus began a curious correspondence. Firstly, Albus wrote his instructions to Minerva, comprising an order to brew up a large amount of Polyjuice potion, and a list of targets and suggested starting points. He carefully copied these orders out in the special ink, then sat down to write a letter to the Brigadier over the top.

_The Old Mill  
Peebles  
June 14th 1942  
Dear Colin,  
I saw your brother the other day. He was doing very nicely. He is not minding rationing too much, though he does miss his bacon. I, on the other hand, have a sweet tooth, and find my sweet ration rather inadequate. He has been seeing a young lady down at the village. He has been dreadfully ribbed about it. She is an upright young lady, acting as governess to the local squire’s children. They have been seen taking tea together before going off to their lawful occupations. Dennis is gutted about not being called up, though I expect you are relieved. I, of course, am too old, though I am quite capable of being a Morale Officer, and Dennis is as able a deputy as one could hope for.  
I hope all is well with you,_

_Brian Dumbledore_

He laid down his pen and read it over, satisfied. He sealed it up and stamped it, then went off to the post box five miles away.

It was nearly five days before he had a reply. Underneath was the terse notation, ‘Message received and understood.’ Then he turned his attention to the ostensible contents of the letter, so he could make a proper response.

_  
June 17th, 1942  
Dear Brian, _  
(They had agreed that Brian was a much less conspicuous name than Albus on a letter.)  
_Received your latest yesterday. Glad to hear that Dennis is doing so well. Sly old dog getting himself a girl! Horrendously busy for me at the moment. It is a terrible responsibility. My landlady complains about the lack of butter, but morale is high here, even without a special officer patrolling our streets.  
Best wishes,  
Colin Gubbins _

At the end of August, Dumbledore send the Brigadier another secret letter, asking when Minerva was due to be dropped in Occupied France. He set himself to write the cover letter.

_30th August, 1942  
Dear Colin,  
It has been busy here. No air-raids for a while, though I think that half of them are stupid wardens taking fright at our own planes returning. But the school reopens soon, so I have been busy checking all the safety precautions. It is also a great responsibility. They have firewardens at the tops of all the towers. This year they will have more foreign students than ever before, what with all the refugees.  
Dennis’ young lady has been moved to work at a farm far away from here, and he is rather peeved about it. Hope all is well at your end.  
Best wishes,  
Brian._

The reply soon came back. ‘Due to be dropped next moon. First report expected within 48hrs of landing.’

And with it, the letter:

_Dear Brian,  
There is no need to worry about me. I had heard that a friend of mine went missing, but he has turned up again now._  
Dumbledore continued reading the letter, chuckling lightly at it now and again.  
Later that day he was seized by a sudden panic about Minerva parra-shoe-ting into France. For a moment, he wondered how the Brigadier could sleep at night. It seemed to him that running spies and a conscience could not easily be combined. But then he went to see a family of Jewish wizard refugees from Poland, and he remembered why he had wanted to win the war in the first place. He tried to keep up a stream of reassurance to Brigadier Gubbins, to be a help in adversity.

The two men kept up a correspondence for the rest of the war, though at times it was severely interrupted, as the Brigadier was forced to travel abroad to oversee various operations. He had designated a coding girl to receive Minerva’s messages, and she sent Albus letters whenever she could. She told him all about her flirtation with one of the gentlemen on the base, and their eventual marriage. She sent Albus an invitation to her wedding after the war, though Albus couldn’t go. Albus sent a few more men and women to be trained and dropped into Occupied territory. One of them never came back. A secret note from the Brigadier revealed why.

_1st January 1944. All hell has broken loose here. The reason we lost your man in Holland was that our radio operator out there was caught and turned. He sent his signal, but some fool thought it was just a mistake, so we dropped a load more men in before we found out. I am sorry about your man._

The despair came through so strongly that Albus was forced to send a reply, where he invoked the fortunes of war. He took a day off work to visit the family of the dead man, and thought all the more about Minerva, who was still out there, by far the youngest of the people he’d sent. In his letter he promised Gubbins that they should meet after the war, and have a meal together. He felt he knew the man quite well, despite having seen him so few times, simply from his correspondence. Of course, after the war, after their meal, they would never see each other again. He would have to go and abide by the Statute of Secrecy, once there was no overriding reason to break it. It saddened him, sometimes, how wizardingkind shut themselves off from the richness of Muggle culture. He could see signs that the Ministry of Magic wanted to be even more restrictive in preventing Muggle contact.

September, 1945.

Albus Apparated down to London. He studied the clothing of the men on the street from inside the Leaky Cauldron, and then Transfigured himself a suit that did not seem too out of place. Despite the signs of bombed buildings and obvious poverty in places, there seemed a general mood of optimism. They had won the war. He walked down to meet Colin in a pub near Covent Garden. He had aged badly, his face creased with lines of worry. For once, his speech was almost unguarded. ‘Bloody unit’s being shut down. Amalgamated. As if we were no bloody use.’

‘Mm,’ sighed Albus into his pint. ‘We’re to go right back undercover. No more standing by our fellow-Britons in adversity. It’s straight back to no communication. I shouldn’t even be here now. Those atom bombs have scared the Ministry witless. Seem to think there’d be some massive uprising if you lot got wind of our existence.’

‘It’s all a great waste. A great bloody waste.’

‘They’ve cashiered me too. Ministry sacked me. I kill a ruddy tyrant and they put me out of a job. I’m to work at the school I told you about. They don’t know what they’re doing. No idea what they’ve let themselves in for. I have ideas.’ He gestured expansively.

They ate sausages and mash, and drank some more, and then wandered the streets of London singing rowdy songs. It was blazing with light, or so it seemed after so many months of blackouts. But there was a sense of desperation and let-down. Albus knew that without this man, Grindelwald would still be in power. So he drank and he sang, and wandered the streets of London until dawn came. He saw the Brigadier home, and shook his hand again, as he had done at their first meeting. He took out his wand, prepared to Obliviate the man in accordance with regulations. He lowered his wand. He couldn’t do it. He smiled at the Brigadier. Then he Apparated away, leaving only his words behind, drifting on the morning air.

‘To secret war.’


End file.
